


Shereshoy

by atrilial



Series: Outlander Zalith Universe [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic - Knights of the Fallen Empire, swtor - Fandom
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dad Torian, Established Relationship, F/M, Knights of the Fallen Empire, Knights of the Fallen Empire Spoilers, POV Torian, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, kotfe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 19:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8460940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atrilial/pseuds/atrilial
Summary: The reunion of the Bounty Hunter and Torian in KOTFE and beyond. Eventual Daddy Torian. AU for my Zalith Universe where my Bounty Hunter is the Outlander instead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a translations at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Please feel free to leave comments and critiques about editing, pacing, if people stayed in character, etc. Always looking to improve. (Just don't be a dick about it.)

Her wicked smile, the predatory flash of blue orbs, and he was trapped, caught in her crosshairs. She stalked closer, hips swinging tauntingly. Every muscle in his body tensed. Adrenaline surged through his veins. A clunk of metal to her left drew her eyes fleetingly away from him. Taking the advantage, he lunged. Whether to fight or run, he hardly knew. Moments later the air rushed out of his lungs as his back collided with the floor. His eyes followed the line of her legs, one on either side of him, over the slight curve of hips, the dip of slender waist, and again a slight curve at her breasts, up over her collarbone to pale neck, before finding her face once more. She grinned triumphantly above him, eyes twinkling, clearly noting the path his had taken.  


“See something you like?” she purred, danger coated in honey. It burned like sweet fire in his blood.  


Rather than answer, he swept his leg out, throwing off her balance. Reaching an arm around her waist, he twisted. She squeaked in surprise, suddenly finding herself pinned beneath him. Surprise quickly turned to mischievous smirk, and he eyed her warily. Her hands reached up, slender, rough fingers twining in his hair and sending sparks down his spine. She pressed up, her breasts flush against his chest, soft lips lighting sparks against his ear.  


“Do you think this means you won, riduur?” she cooed. Before he could register her words, her body rippled against him, a wave of exquisite control as her warm skin pressed and pulled back from toes to chest. His head dropped to her neck, groan muffled against her pulse. His hips bucked automatically in response, seeking her out, but she pulled back, tauntingly just out of reach. Frustrated, he nipped at her neck, feeling her shiver in response. Encouraged, he kissed, then trailed his tongue lightly over her rising pulse. He felt her head fall back, exposing her neck, surrendering to him with a moan. Apparently she was done with their game.  


Laughing softly, a little smug, he kissed up her neck, over her jawline, before finding her mouth. Her kiss was hot and eager, fingers in his hair pulling him closer, as if she could meld them together with her will. Her legs wrapped around his waist, hips cradling him, and he was done playing games too. One quick thrust, and she surrounded him, hot, and slick, and home. She gasped against his mouth, pressing against him as he rocked into her.  


A growing ache in his chest was all the warning he had.  


Torian woke all at once, automatically suppressing the instinct to gasp. His muscles twitched and shuddered, sweat making the rough sheet stick to his skin uncomfortably. Suppressing a groan, he buried his face in what passed for a pillow, trying to regain control of raw nerves. He’d been grinding himself against the bunk in his sleep. Again. Fortunately, it seemed he hadn’t woken anyone else. Instinct told him he was up early, but the others would be up soon.  


Concentrating, he reigned in his breathing, bringing his body back under control. Intently, he focused on one muscle group, then another, forcing them to unclench, relax. He dreamed of Lelia almost every night, but dreams like this hurt most. Waking bereft and longing made his chest tight. It would be a while before the feeling faded enough to breath easy. Resigned, Torian sat up, slipping quietly out of the bunk. No sense lying awake. Might as well get a head start on the day.  


His kute protected his skin from the stinging wind that whipped in occasionally from the tent flaps as he crossed to the locker containing his gear. It would take weeks to get the sand out of his hair. Assuming they ever made it off Darvannis. They’d only been here a few days, waiting to meet this Outlander who could supposedly take down Zakuul. More than a few were dead already, beaten down by the endless machines. Not far off, he could hear the rapport of blasters, near constant throughout the night. The droids had been kept at bay for now. Shift would change soon.  


With the expertise of constant repetition, he silently clipped his armor into place. Chestpiece, greaves, bracers, boots, gloves. Twisting his arms behind him, he carefully secured his jet pack in place. This armor was still fairly new. More streamlined from the armor he used to wear. Made movement and stealth easier on missions, particularly handy given all the infiltration missions Mandalore was giving him lately.  


Reaching for a comb, his hand brushed against a small circular object. Grabbing it with a shuddering sigh, he flipped the switch and the holodisk came to life. Sheltering the blue glow in the confines of his locker, he looked down at the small figure moving silently in the light. She grinned up at him, and his heart twisted painfully, as it always did.  


There weren't many pictures of her like this, with her face uncovered. Normally, she wore her helmet and mask for pictures, only her startlingly blue eyes visible among the layers of fabric. Her “professional look”, she called it. With her face hidden, she looked foreboding and mysterious, she explained. Uncovered, she looked delicate and vulnerable, she'd added to him in private. His wife was by no means laandur, no question there. But her beguiling eyes, pink lips, and petite frame belied her strength and killer instincts. Not really the imagine she wanted to project to potential clients and enemies alike.  


Hence, this was a rare picture, her blonde hair framing her smiling, open face. She'd given him the holodisk for their anniversary. In it she wore the beskar chestpiece Corridan had helped him forge, the aliik of Clan Cadera hand-painted so it lay over her heart. She laughed and flexed ridiculously, posing in one ludicrous position after another.  


A presence grew at his back, and Torian tensed.  


“Niiiice,” a cocky drawl leered. “Your sister?”  


It wasn't the first time someone had asked if they were siblings, matching blonde hair and blue eyes making it an easy assumption. He doubted this di'kut was so harmlessly curious. Flipping off the holo, he turned to face Bethik. The kid was one of the newer arrivals. Fifteen and all the self assured arrogance that comes with adolescence and stupidity. He reminded Torian of Jogo. Bethik stared down at Torian, height feeding the boy's overconfidence, despite his pubescent frame. Torian returned his stare coldly, not offering any information. Osik like Bethik would latch on to the smallest tidbit and never let go. Better not to feed them anything at all.  


“She's a hot little number, isn't she,” a perverse smile grew on Bethik's pock-marked face. “Bet she'd love to ride a _real_ Mandalorian.” Others were waking, and a crowd was starting to form. Torian noticed something pass hands in the back. Bets, probably. He inhaled deeply, knuckles aching from fighting the urge to clench his fists. A couple of his brothers near the front of the group took a step back, clearly possessing more sense than Bethik, who was still running his mouth.  


“Don't worry Torian, I'll make sure she's plenty satisfied before I send her back to you.”  


“Ne shab'rud'ni,” Torian warned quietly, voice like ice. If this mir'osik had one lick of survival instinct, he'd realize he was a about to cross a line. Bethik clearly had no survival instinct.  


“Oh? He speaks! What do you think, brothers? Between the group of us, I'm sure even we could satisfy a dirty, litt-”  


Lighting fast, Torian grabbed Bethik's head and slammed it against the edge of the locker. One, two, three times he slammed the door on Bethik's thick skull, before releasing the arrogant di'kut's unconscious body, letting it slid to the floor, a trail of blood trickling down the side of his face. Torian pushed Bethik over with his boot, placing the holodisk back in the locker, grabbing his rifle and closing the door.  


Now that the show was over, the others had turned to their own morning routines and paid little attention to Torian as he walked out of the tent. Bethik would wake eventually with a headache and hopefully a new found sense of respect. Torian doubted the later.  


Agitated and angry, Torian strode towards Mandalore's tent, hoping she'd have a task that could make use of this energy. The Outlander was coming today, but she wouldn't be here for a few hours. Prep work needed doing in the meanwhile.  


“Torian! Perfect timing,” Mandalore beckoned him over as he stepped through the entrance. She stood at the edge of the strategic planning table, Khomo Fett on her left, looking antsy - desperate for action - as usual. Torian fell in at her right, looking over the map in front of them. Several locations were highlighted, and he could guess Mandalore’s intent before she even spoke. He awaited her word all the same.  


“I need an update on numbers and enemy layout before the Outlander arrives. We need to be ready to act the moment she gets here. The longer we delay here, the more loses we are going to take,” Mandalore instructed. “Hit these points and do some recon. It’s a big area, crawling with those machines, so it will probably take a few hours. Grab some chow and head out within the hour.”  


“On it,” Torian nodded, points of interest already locked into memory.  


He turned to leave, but paused when Mandalore added, “I’m planning on having you play backup for the Outlander, when she arrives. From what I understand, none of her team was available for this mission.”  


“Understood.” Torian said, exiting the tent. He made his way across to the mess tent. A number of his brothers were already diving into their breakfast. By the smell, it was some kind of gruel, buried in enough cinnamon and spices to permeate the entire tent with a pleasing aroma. Almost enough to overpower the smells of dust and smoke and unwashed warrior.  


“Haili cetare!” Grak all but shouted as Torian approached the old Mandalorian. Grak was more than a little deaf after a years of explosions and blaster fire. Always seemed to understand Torian, though. Torian snatched a bowl from the stack inside a nearby crate, while the old verd stirred the pot of gruel to keep it from burning. He dropped a generous ladle full of the thick substance into Torian’s bowl, then spun around to smack the poor bastard assisting him, who’d spaced out watching a pretty woman and was letting the next batch of biscuits burn.  


Torian took his bowl and a couple of the biscuits from a previous batch, as Grak berated his latest victim. Working as Grak’s extra hands for meal prep was a duty cycled through the ranks. Many of the younger warriors found the task dull and learned quickly and painfully that Grak didn’t tolerate slackers. Torian always enjoyed helping the older man. Grak was a survivor and a damn good cook. A lot could be learned from him, for those willing to listen.  


Glancing around the tables, Torian was about to claim a seat in the back corner, isolated and positioned so his back wasn't exposed. His plans changed, however, when he noticed one of his cousins waving him over. Redirecting, he moved to join the two relations he was only just starting to really get to know.  


Years back, before Zakuul had attacked, he’d reached out to them, curious if they would be interested in helping him rebuild Clan Cadera. After his wife disappeared and Zakuul attacked, he had lost track of the scattered remnants of his clan. It had been a pleasant surprise when these two brothers had joined the fight several months back.  


“Heard you did a number on Bethik,” Jader laughed as Torian slid onto the bench across from him.  


“‘Bout time someone did,” Trov chimed in over a mouthful of food. “Little osik’s been beggin’ for someone to teach him some respect since he got here.”  


“Ori’buyce, kih’kovid,” Jader agreed. Neither of them required Torian to add to the conversation, as usual, for which Torian was grateful. He was still too riled up to talk about it. Unfortunately, his cousins did not stay content with letting Torian eat his food in peace.  


“Hey Torian, you notice Dreeva’s been eying you a bunch lately,” Trov asked, changing the subject. It was not an improvement. Jader turned to glance at the brunette across the tent, who was in fact looking their way. A long scar and a hard smile cut across her face. She was about as subtle as a Gundark in her interest, though Torian had given her no encouragement.  


“Heard her riduur went down fighting alongside Mandalore the Vindicated. She was one of the first to respond to Mandalore the Avenger’s gathering of the clans,” Trov added.  


“She’s a hell of a warrior,” Jader said, scooping up the remnants of his bowl with a biscuit. “Patient, thorough, with a punch like a mining drill. She’d be quite a mate.”  


Jader and Trov both looked at Torian expectantly.  


“So ask her yourself,” Torian deflected, frowning into his bowl. His cousins had been trying to set him up for weeks. They were trying to help. They weren’t. “I have a wife.”  


They exchanged a knowing look that just served to further irritate Torian.  


“It’s been over five years, vod,” Trov said, sympathetically. As if Torian wasn't acutely aware. When Torian didn’t respond, electing instead to glare moodily into his empty bowl, the brothers mercifully decided to move on to something else. Soon they were arguing about which of the most recently released scopes had the best features.  


Done eating, Torian dropped off his bowl, left the tent and set a brisk pace to his first target. He was barely outside the camp when he spotted a probe hovering nearby. If he destroyed it in one hit, it wouldn’t have a chance to alert nearby Sky Troopers of his location. Taking careful aim, he inhaled deeply, held his breath and fired. The probe shattered in pieces. Satisfied, Torian pressed forward. It took about fifteen minutes working across the enemy-dotted shifting sands to reach the first recon point. Looking for a better vantage point, Torian noted a covered ledge above him. Slinging his rifle over his back, he jumped, grabbing onto the edge and pulling himself up. Tugging his rifle back around, he lay on the ledge and peered through the scope. As he watched the movements of the machines in the distance, noting their numbers, locations and patterns, the verse Mandalore had taught him ages ago played in his head, one verse on the inhale, next on the exhale.

_Ner runi ca kebii’tra,  
Bel gar me’suum’ika bal ka’ra._

The tightness in his chest hadn’t subsided from earlier. Stars, he missed his wife. He wondered what she’d be saying if she were here. He could imagine her sitting next to him humming with energy, fingers tapping on her blaster as she struggled to hold still. She’d never had much patience for recon.  


Not for the first time, he wondered if she still lived, lost somewhere in the wild unknown of the Eternal Empire. A POW, perhaps. He wasn’t sure if that was worse than thinking her gone. On Mako’s urging, he’d written a letter to her several years back, a goodbye sent into the void. Mako had suggested it would help him find closure. He wasn’t convince.  


It was hard to believe she could have survived. They’d learned eventually that Marr’s ship had barreled into the enemy, the explosion destroying a section of the Eternal Empire’s fleet and leaving little chance for survivors on either side to escape to safety. He suspected that had been her choice. In the face of defeat, she would take as many of the chakaar with her as she could. Torian felt pride and pain in equal measure that she would charge unflinching to the end.  


Still, they had found a few survivors on their attempts to infiltrate Zakuul for word of her fate. After news of the death of the Emperor of Zakuul, there had been a short time where he thought this Outlander might be her. That hope faded as the years ticked by with no word. Surely, if it had been her, she would have sought them out during that time. But all word of the Outlander disappeared and became an afterthought in the wake of Arcann’s ruthless invasion.  


It had been a surprise to hear the Outlander start gaining momentum again in the last few months. Perhaps this unknown leader had been building secret alliances in Zakuul over the last several years? Or perhaps she had been captured and only recently rescued by her followers? Rumors followed her title like wildfire, so it was hard to discern the truth.  


He’d be able to discover the truth for himself soon enough, apparently. It had been a while since he worked with a partner. Would she chafe at accepting his support? Or perhaps chafe at accepting the support of Mandalorians in general? She certainly wouldn’t be the first. At least she’d finally gotten them on the offensive. Having a goal beyond mere survival was a nice change.  


Satisfied he’d gleaned the information he needed from this location, Torian rose, swung back to the ground below, and pressed on to the next point. In all, it took several hours to hit every location. He sent the information ahead of him. Mandalore would want to look it over and prep as soon as possible. He quickly worked his way back. The Outlander would be here any minute, and he had no intention of keeping Mandalore waiting. As he approached the camp, he watched a small ship fly in overhead and land in the direction he was headed. She was here. He picked up his pace.  


He was so intent on his goal, he barely noticed when he’d arrived, only vaguely aware of the woman with her back to him as Mandalore called out.  


“Torian!”  


The Outlander turned. Torian’s heart stopped.  


He jerked back, shock unchecked on his face.  


“Riduur. Beloved.”  


The words were out of his mouth before he could even register he was speaking, his brain fighting to keep up with the hurricane of emotions that kept him frozen in place. Fortunately, she seemed less poleaxed. Words had always come more easily to her.  


“Torian.” She breathed his name, her voice as sultry sweet as it ever was in his dreams. It felt like electricity lighting under his skin. “What are you doing here? I know how long it’s been...but I never forgot you.”  


And then her hand was grabbing his armor and tugging him forward and a small part of his mind remember her doing the same thing the day he’d asked her to marry him. Then her lips were on his and his brain shut off completely.  


Her lips were soft and warm and tasted both salty and sweet, and he wanted nothing more than to press five years of longing into her mouth. He held back, still vaguely aware of their audience. Too soon, it was over, and she stood back, leaving him feeling immediately bereft. But the distance gave him the moment he needed to finally get control of himself, and he smiled back at her, watching relief light up in her eyes.  


“Never thought you would,” he quipped. It seemed grossly inadequate. But it would have to do for now. He was suddenly acutely aware that Mandalore and Khomo were still waiting. Mandalore had also apparently decided it was time to move things along and interjected on the reunion.  


“I take it you two know each other, but save it for later. We’re short on time.” Torian could detect the wry note in her voice, clearly putting the pieces together. Torian had told her of his wife, his Lelia, often enough.  


“Right.” Lelia answered, as they turned and walked up to join the others in front of the planning table. “Let’s capture those guns and talk after. You good to fight?” She asked, turning toward him.  


Could he fight? He felt like he could fly.  


“Better than ever,” he assured her.  


“Stay alive, both of you,” Mandalore said. Torian followed Lelia out of the tent, falling into step behind her, watching her six, as if the last five years had never happened.  


They had, of course. Torian could already pick out differences between the focused commander in front of him and the impatient spitfire in his memories. And he knew he had changed as well. There was much to talk about. After.  


Crossing the wind-whipped sands went much quicker this time, despite having to relearn how to fight together. He’d switched out his staff in favor of a rifle in recent years, and so their old fighting patterns had to adapt. Still, they worked well together. Despite the years, he found he could still read her intent easily. As a result, few words needed to be exchanged between them to communicate how to take down each opponent. A look, a signal, and they were on the same page.  


She’d picked up some extra ordinance on their way out of the camp, so they took down a few of the towering walkers on their way. Clearly her affinity for blowing things up hadn’t changed. With her helmet and mask back in place, he couldn’t see much of her face, but he could guess at the wild smile hidden under the cloth. The urge to kiss her rushed back to the forefront of his mind, but he shoved it back down. Later.  


The armor was the same, he noted. His aliik still lay over her heart, worn and faded from use. It warmed him to see it. He’d have to repaint it for her when they had some time.  
He could detect where new damage had been patched and repaired, including matching repairs on her back and just under her breast that made him frown. He’d have to ask her about that later as well. In his inventory, he noticed she’d let her armor out some around the waist. It amused him to think all that voracious eating was starting to catch up with her. Neither of them were as young as they used to be.  


She was also fighting differently. Not as drastic a change as his own fighting style, but she was more reserved. Her style was tempered, controlled where it had been flashy. In the past, she would leap and dart, dancing all over the battlefield. Now she contained that energy, saving it. A result of maturing? Or the effect of an injury perhaps?  


They had the first two guns reprogrammed quickly, and hurried towards the third. The longer they took, the more of their brothers fell. It was a loss the clans could ill afford. Blasting through the last of the droids, they reached the final gun control panel. Torian broke through the encryption as he’d done with the last two, and began inputting the new commands as he checked on the status of the team tasked with lowering the shields.  


“Guns hot. Ready to target droids and factory defenses,” Torian reported.  


“We have the shield generators down. Give the place a pounding,” the team leader’s voice came in over the comm.  


“Where are you?” Torian asked, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut.  


“Still inside the perimeter. The droids...they outflanked us. Couldn’t withdraw.”  


“Understood.” Torian sighed, turning to Lelia. Her mission, her orders.  


Her brows furrowed as she clarified, “Those soldiers - they’re inside the firing zone?”  


“Yes. Already dead. No honor in being beaten by machines.” A hard truth of this bitter fight against Zakuul.  


“You served with those people down there. You know what resources your army has. I can’t make this decision.”  


He was grateful she trusted him with the choice, just as she had with his father all those years ago. And just like then, his choice was already made. While the loss of those soldiers would be a blow, they couldn’t afford not to take out the defenses if they hoped to succeed with the next stage of the mission. Any individual on that team would make the same choice.  


“We’re Mandalorians. There is no decision,” he said, turning and executing the commands already entered.  


“Incoming,” he heard over the comm. Then grim silence. Torian turned away from the console, heart heavy, and began making his way out.  


“Better get back to base. Mandalore will be planning a new assault,” he said. Lelia said nothing behind him, knowing him well enough to give him a little space as he processed. Quietly, they headed back to base.  


As they approached the tent, Torian could hear Khomo’s obnoxious voice ringing out tauntingly. Muscles tensing in irritation and a frown pinching his brow, Torian strode into the tent. Khomo needed to learn to keep his mouth shut.  


“They’re dead. No point mocking them,” Torian scowled.  


Mandalore broke in before things escalated.  


“Not bad hunting out there. You’re living up to your clan after all,” she addressed Lelia. Torian was inclined to agree. The previous Mandalore would have been proud.  


Words were exchanged, a plan to meet up in the morning, and Mandalore dismissed them. Khomo eagerly urged Lelia to join in the revelry of a successful hunt, but Torian had other hopes for the evening. Once they were relatively alone, or at least, ignored, he turned to Lelia.  


“So. You seen the others?” He asked. It seemed as good a place to start as any.  


“A few. No word from Skadge or Mako.”  


So both Gault and Blizz had found her before him. How long had they known? No one had tried to reach out to him. Had he dropped off the radar that much or was Gault just disinclined to inform him?  


“The rest left early on,” Torian explained. “Mako and I stuck together awhile. Hunted. But when Mandalore calls, you answer. Had to leave Mako on Carratos. She can care for herself.”  


He turned to face her more fully, heart suddenly beating a rapid tattoo.  


“You I’m not leaving. Not ever again,” he said with certainty.  


“How have you managed?” She asked softly, concern clear. “The last five years?”  


“Fought a lot. Remembered you every day.” With that, he stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. Despite the awkward angles of the armor and the numerous layers between them, it felt so right to have her in his arms again.  


“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he whispered in her ear. Her arms tightened are around him.  


“I love you, too,” she whispered back. All lingering tightness in his chest unraveled in a burst of warmth. And he had zero desire to share her with anyone else tonight.  


“Forget the victory party. Let’s be alone.”  


Eyes twinkling, she followed him out of the tent. The revelries were already in full force as drinks were passed, blasters fired, and fights broke out. He lead her away from the noise, reaching out for her hand as they crossed the camp, desperate for contact with her. It occurred to him he didn’t have anywhere particularly private to take her. They stood in silence for a moment, admiring the night sky, before she broke into his contemplation.  


“My ship’s right there,” she offered. Her voice dropped lower, velvety, in that way that set fire to his blood. “Probably much better for private conversations than any of these thin tents.”  
Needing no further encouragement, he eagerly led her to the ship and up the ramp, sealing out the cheers of the few revelers who’d noticed them. The ship was jarringly silent in contrast to the ruckus outside.  


They were alone.  


Torian only had a moment to appreciate this before Lelia tugged on their clasped hands, pulling his head lower, and her lips found his again. This time, Torian didn’t hold back. He threaded his fingers into her hair, cradling her head as she wrapped her arms around his waist. His kiss was hard and aching and she responded in kind. She moaned softly, pressing herself against him, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth, tangling with hers.  


His armor was rapidly becoming uncomfortable. One hand released her hair to travel down and begin undoing the snaps on her chest piece. He felt the change in her, as she pulled her body away, just out of reach of his questing hands. Her lips remained a moment longer before she broke away entirely, breathing heavily.  


Uncertain, Torian took in her stance, her expression. She seemed uncomfortable, wrestling with something. He waited for her to find the words, a reversal of their usual dynamic. After a moment, she seemed to make a decision and her eyes locked with his, clear with purpose.  


“There is something I need to tell you, before we continue,” she said softly. It was a relief to know they would be continuing. Even the few inches currently between them was more than he could bear at the moment. Still, he waited for her to continue. Her mouth opened twice to start, then closed as she seemed to think better of her word choice. Finally, in frustration, she blurted out what was on her mind.  


“Torian. I’m pregnant.”  


A boma kick to the gut would have been less shocking. And less painful. The tightness was back in his chest and it was hard to breath. He found himself pulling away as a hundred little observations clicked into place and a hundred questions battled for dominance in his mind. Hurt flickered across her face as he withdrew slightly. She was still waiting for him to say something, so he forced out what pressed most on his mind.  


“The father?” he asked. His voice sounded distant and oddly calm. A stranger’s voice.  


Surprise flitted across her face, then she frowned.  


“Torian, there is no one else,” she said firmly. He believed her. The tightness in his chest eased, but the confusion only grew. His mind supplied explanation after explanation, each more unlikely than the last. She drew his focus back to her with a squeeze of his hands, and he waited for her to make sense of this. She inhaled deeply.  


“Torian, I spent the last five years frozen in carbonite. The baby is yours.”  


Two sentences. How could so much be packed into two sentences?  


Among the maelstrom of conflicting emotions as he processed her words, a brilliant joy and deep love swelled to the surface. There was too much there to untangle right now. She shifted nervously in front of him, and he realized she wasn’t sure he thought this was good news. Eager to quench her fears, he reached out to her.  


“Mine,” he breathed. His voice was steady, but his hands shook as he lay them over her belly. Her hands came to rest over his, and she smiled tentatively at him.  


“She’s a fighter, this one,” Lelia laughed quietly.  


“She?” he asked, as the imagine of a bright-eyed, towheaded girl settled over his heart. He brushed his thumbs over the place his little one grew. He could feel his throat closing up, and he swallowed around the lump with difficulty.  


“Mhmm,” Lelia nodded, watching his reaction with gentle eyes.  


He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, absorbing the overload of information and feeling. Eventually she grabbed his hand and pulled him further into the ship, until they reached the captain’s room. She sat on the bed, wincing with relief as she did so. Finally coming back to himself, he sat beside her, another question springing to the front.  


“How far along?”  


“About six months, the physician said. Evidently, I was about a week along when everything...” she waved her hand to encompass the entirety of the chaos on Marr’s ship and perhaps the last five years as well, “happened.”  


Six months, the time since word of the Outlander had surged to the surface, he noted absently.  


“The physician said it was fortunate I was so early in the pregnancy, or the baby likely wouldn’t have survived the freezing process,” Lelia added, stretching her back. Her brow furrowed and she sighed, an uncomfortable sound. It occurred to him that pregnant in armor was probably not the most comfortable feeling. As if to confirm his thoughts, she disconnected her flamethrower and pulled the gloves off her hands then began working on the latches of her chest piece.  


“Here, let me,” he offered, reaching behind her to undo the connectors on her jet pack, setting it carefully aside before sliding off the bed to kneel in front of her. The snaps were in all the same places he remembered and it took him little time to pull the beskar off her. She immediately seemed to breath easier, pulling off her bracers and leaning back on her hands. He unbuckled her belt and set her blasters aside then continued onto her greaves. Extracting knives, grenades and energy cells from each pocket and hiding place, just as he remembered, he piled them gingerly near the jet pack.  


“Got a name in mind?” he asked as he worked her boots off. They stuck, and it took some effort. After a few tugs, they came free and he discovered her ankles were slightly swollen. She moaned with a mix of pain and relief as he held her foot and began gently massaging and rolling her ankle.  


“I was thinking Caden, if you like it,” she said after a moment. “It means fighter. Seemed fitting.”  


“Caden,” he tested the name out on his tongue. “I like it.”  


He smiled up at her, and she grinned back, looking blissfully content. It was hard to believe a war raged outside this peaceful little sanctuary.  


“Caden Cadera,” she said decisively, grin widening. Warmth grew in his chest and flowed into his limbs. His jaw hurt from smiling more than he had in years.  


Longing to feel Lelia’s skin on his, Torian pulled his gloves off and decided he may as well shuck the rest of his gear while he was at it. Soon his jet pack, weapons and armor joined hers on the floor.  


Now both in their under armor, he knelt back on the floor in front of her and took her other foot in his hand, continuing with the same ministrations he had lavished on its twin.  


The room was musty, sparsely used. The walls were bare, furnishings spartan. He doubted she spent much time here. He wondered idly what had happened to her other ship. Maybe Mako still had it?  


He was drawn back to the moment by Lelia’s hands reaching down, cupping his jaw and coaxing him up to her.  


“I missed you, Torian,” she sighed, pressing a light kiss to his lips. He twined his hands back in her hair, enjoying the sensation of it’s cool, smooth texture against his bare skin.  


“Missed you too, cyar’ika,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. The realization that she was really, truly here and alive after five years apart swept through him and stole his breath. She was so beautiful.  


Kissing her lightly, he brought his left hand forward, cupping her jaw, thumb brushing over the burn scar on the side of her face and tracing along the edge of the cybernetics outlining her right eye - damage the result of one of her handmade explosives backfiring in her youth.  


His hands continued down, caressing her neck, making her sigh, then sliding over her shoulders before coming to rest on her arms. He sat back on his heels and took her in. Now out of her armor, he could clearly see the swell of her belly. Her breasts were larger as well. He slid his hands forward to cup them and she sighed again, leaning into his touch.  


His thumbs brushed over her nipples beneath the fabric, eliciting a gasp. His hands continued their path down, gently caressing her belly before seeking out the edge of her undershirt. In one smooth motion, he lifted it up and over her head, leaving only her bra covering her torso.  


His hands fell back to her belly, noting the new stretch marks cutting paths through her smooth, pale skin. He lowered his mouth to press kisses across the expanse, tongue tracing along the new lines. One of Lelia’s hands carded through his hair, encouraging his exploration. As he traveled back up to her breasts, his eyes fell on the large scar partially obscured by her bra. Pushing the fabric out of the way, he studied it intently. A burn. Like one caused by a lightsaber. Remembering the repairs on her armor, he reached around her and found the matching scar on her back. He inhaled sharply, pulling back to look at her.  


“What…?” he asked, though he already knew. Her eyes pinched in remembered pain.  


“Impaled on a lightsaber,” she confirmed. “Little gift from Arcann,” she added with a scowl.  


Torian frowned.  


“How are you not dead?” he asked pointedly, gut twisting.  


“Should be,” she agreed. “Almost was. That’s a long story. Preferably for later.”  


It was a statement but she said it like a question. If he really wanted to talk about it now, they would. He didn’t. It could wait.  


His hands drifted back over the fabric of her bra, and he carefully pulled it over her breasts and off over her head. Cupping them in his hands once more, he pressed his mouth to her skin, scattering kisses across each breast before pulling a nipple into his mouth. He flicked his tongue over it it and she groaned, pushing against him. One leg wrapped around his thigh, holding him close.  


He lavished one breast and then the other. Leila panted, hands grasping fists of his hair, shaking a dusting of sand onto them in the process. She laughed breathily, and his hands journeyed down until he found the waistband of her pants. Encouraging her to raise her hips, he slid her pants and underwear off together, then added her socks to the pile, before standing to remove his kute, dropping it unceremoniously on top of everything else.  


She leaned back on the bed, bare and beautiful and grinning lasciviously as her eyes traced over him.  


“Like what you see?” Torian teased, posing with his hands on his hips, stance shoulder breadth apart.  


“Better than I remember,” she purred, reaching forward and grabbing his hips, pulling him back to her. It was her turn to plant kisses over his abdomen, following the lines of his muscles with the tip of her tongue. They jumped and twitched in response, sending heat racing south. He ran his hands over her arms and neck and shoulders, caressing as her mouth worked over his skin.  


Her hands traced over the back of his thighs, up over his ass and back down, as her mouth dropped lower, kissing along the lines of his pelvis. She came within a breath of where he desperately wanted that pretty mouth, before moving back up his stomach. He could imagine the wicked smirk on her lips as he groaned in frustration. Once more, her tongue traced tauntingly down, just passing over him. He could feel the warmth of her breath, agonizingly erotic. Her hands slid to his ass once more, then abruptly squeezed, pulling him forward and into her mouth.  


Stars, he loved that mouth. She made a pleased little hum as his hands tangled in her hair, his head falling back, eyes closing against the onslaught of sensation. Her tongue swiped slowly from base to tip, circled and then her mouth encompassed him again. Her hands were moving again, sliding over his legs, his ass, his hips, his stomach, driving him wild as she ravished him with her mouth. He rocked against her as her mouth pulled him in then slid back, tongue circling then pulling him in again in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Far too soon, and almost not soon enough, she pulled back, grinning mischievously up at him. His heart was nearly pounding out of his chest, his breathing quick, his skin electric.  


She squeaked delightedly when he lunged, tipping her head back and kissing her forcefully, tongue delving into her mouth as her arms wrapped around his neck and held him in place. Still cradling her head with one hand, mouth still intent on hers, his other hand dropped down, caressing over her neck, between her breasts - making her arch into his touch - over the swell of her stomach, until he reached the apex of her thighs. His fingers teased along one thigh, brushing against the curls between, making her gasp against his mouth, before he moved them tauntingly away to caress her other thigh. Her hips lifted, begging, and he yielded, sliding his fingers along her heated skin, before parting it. She was wet and hot and writhed against him, urging him on.  


She moaned, as his finger circled over her, remembering where she was most sensitive, most responsive.  Her mouth fell away from his as as her head dropped back, breathing heavy, neck exposed. He kissed along her jaw, her ear, her neck, as his fingers circled and dipped, and she bucked against him. He supported her back and head with his free arm as she gave herself over to his touch. In minutes, he felt her tense, go still, and with a few quick strokes, she was shuddering in his arms, mouth open, too breathless to make a sound. He circled twice more to draw it out and he pulled his hand away, bringing it up to brush away the hair sticking to her forehead. She looked radiant, flushed and panting, skin glistening. He wanted her desperately.  


When she caught her breath, she chuckled lightly, dropping a soft peck against his lips.  


“You have a good memory,” she said, arms propping her up against the bed as she looked up at him.  


“Had a lot of years to remember,” he said softly. A brief cloud passed over her eyes, recalling the time lost. But this was not a moment for dwelling on the past. She reached for him, pulling his head down, mouth against his ear, making his skin tingle.  


“Torian,” she whispered in a slow drawl, voice low and smooth and heavy, “I _need_ you.”  


Fire raced through him and his lips found hers again, pressing her back into the bed with desperate, open mouth kisses. He was in a fog of want and need and it took him a moment to realize that she was pushing against him, rather than let him press her into the bed. With effort, he pulled away, trying to understand what she wanted.  


“Umm...doctor said I’m not really suppose to be on my back much,” she explained, gesturing at her rounded belly. It took a moment, but understanding dawned, and he stood back up, smiling down at her.  


“Easy fix,” he said, and scooped her up, causing her to shriek and giggle, wrapping her legs around him as he walked to the side of the bed, sat and scooted back toward the middle, still holding her in place over him. Adjusting the pillows, he lay back, looking up at her. She sat straddling his hips, achingly close, and her eyes danced with mirth. Her full breasts, rounded belly, slick skin, disheveled hair, all together made an image that stole his breath away. _Mesh’la_.  


“Quite the view,” he said, his voice rough with arousal and emotion. Her eyes widened in remembrance and she smiled even brighter.  


She leaned forward, pressing her mouth to his in a gentle kiss.  


“I love you,” she said against his mouth, so sincere it made his heart ache. He cupped her jaw with his hands, holding her gaze, caressing her flushed cheeks with his thumbs.  


“I love you too, cyar’ika. My riduur.”  


Her eyes squeezed closed, and she dropped her forehead to his. They stayed that way a moment, just breathing the same air, pressed against each other. Then her clever fingers wrapped around him and she slid onto him.  


_Oh._  


Had it only been this morning that he’d dreamed of this? Hot and slick and _home_. This was so much more than anything his dreams could paint for him. He had forgotten what it felt like to be complete, to feel whole. All the little tidbits he remembered, how could he have forgotten _this_? And then she moved, and he couldn’t think anymore, giving himself over to sensation.  


Holding her hips, he met her as she rocked against him. She sat up, head back, breasts heaving with each thrust. Her hands pressed against him for balance as she rose and fell over him. Heat built like an inferno inside him, and he knew he wouldn’t last long. Gripping her desperately, he pressed rapidly up into her. He was on the edge, hips meeting hers too quickly for her to match, again, again, again. A starburst exploded behind his eyes and he shuddered into her.  


His body trembled, at the mercy of the aftershocks rocking him, skin hot and hypersensitive. A deep relaxation settled into his limbs and he released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in a long exhale. Lelia lay lightly on his chest, panting and sweaty and shivering, her arms just barely preventing her from putting too much weight where her stomach was pressed between them.  


Realizing she couldn’t be very comfortable, he summoned up enough strength to his arms to help her shift off of him. She curled up against his side, and he fished blindly for the blanket underneath them. A few quick tugs and he pulled it free, covering them both. She made a soft, contented sound against his shoulder, his hand absently trailing drowsy patterns along her back.  


He wasn't sure how long they lay there, dropping in and out of a light doze. Eventually, Lelia sat up with a groan and dragged herself out of bed, stumbling blearily into the refresher. Torian rubbed a hand over his eyes and sat up, reaching out to blindly grope for the data pad he thought he recalled seeing on the nightstand earlier. Finding it, he flicked it on, squinting against the sudden glow, reading the time in the corner. It wasn’t as late as he’d expected. He felt bone tired, but then, it had been a draining day, both physically and emotionally.  


He took the opportunity to type out a quick message to Mandalore.  She likely wouldn't be surprised to hear from him, given the new situation. He submitted the transfer request and leaned back against the headboard, returning the data pad to the table. A few moments later, Lelia returned.  


She climbed back into the bed, curling wearily against his leg. Idly, he ran his hand through the short length of her hair. He wondered for a moment of if she had fallen asleep, but she began tracing light patterns on his thigh with her finger, sighing peacefully. After a few minutes of relaxed silence, she spoke.  


“I’ve got so many things to ask and I hardly know where to begin. Bet you have a lot of questions too.”  


He nodded, though she couldn't see it. He waited for her to continue. After a moment, she did.  


“Have you...have you heard anything about my mom?” she asked hesitantly, probably afraid to know the answer.  


“She was doing well, last I saw her,” Torian reassured her. “Mako and I visited her a couple years ago, just before Mandalore called the clans together. Drained most of the money out of our account and prepaid the care facility for the next ten years, just in case.”  


She exhale against his leg, clearly relieved.  


“Thanks,” she whispered, falling quiet again for a few minutes.  


“What about your cousins?” she asked eventually. “And Corridan?”  


“Last I heard, he was running transport missions for Mandalore. Been a nightmare getting supplies and people where they need to be with Zakuul lurking around every corner,” Torian explained, enjoying the texture of her hair slipping between his fingers. “He’s married now. Has two kids, girl and a boy. Only met his wife once, but I think you’d like her.”  


He yawned, letting his head drop back on the headboard as he continued.  


“Haven’t heard from all my cousins. Lost a few, others are trapped in the homeworlds, under Zakuul’s watchful eye. A couple will be out in the fight with us tomorrow. I’ll introduce you if we get a chance.”  


Lelia looked most of the way asleep, when a loud gurgling noise broke the quiet. She groaned and he chuckled with a raised brow as he realized it was her stomach. He tried to recall if he’d seen her eat anything since her arrival. She’d stuffed down a ration bar while they made their way back to Mandalore after taking out the defenses, but that was it.  


Decision made, he slid out of the bed, dropping a kiss on her lips when she protested the loss of his body heat. He wandered the ship for a minute before he found the galley. It was stocked with the basics, almost entirely untouched. He wasn’t surprised to find the only open containers were for ration bars and a variety of junk.  


Lelia’s policy had always been that if it required more work than opening a wrapper, it wasn’t worth the bother. And when she ate, she inhaled her food like it would disappear if she wasn't fast enough. He suspected that was probably true when she was a teenager, scraping by on Nar Shaddaa. Still, living on processed garbage couldn't be very good for the baby.  


The baby. His baby. His daughter. Caden Cadera. He rolled the thought around in his head, grinning like an idiot, as he fished out ingredients he could throw together quickly into something reasonably worth eating. It would be blander than his usual fare, but he had no desire to dress and leave their little haven here on the ship to go scrounge up decent spices in the encampment. Once the dish was done, he scooped the noodle mixture onto a couple plates, grabbed a pair of forks and headed back to the bedroom.  


He could hear her singing - presumably in the shower - some ridiculously bawdy bar song that she belted out at the top of her lungs. She had no trouble carrying a tune. It was her lack of volume control that usually ragged on the nerves of their crewmates in the past. He set the plates on the bed and walked into the refresher to let her know there was food. She stood under the sonic shower head, oblivious to his presence as she sang and attempted to shake the sand out of her hair. He watched her for a minute, reveling in having the luxury to do so, before deciding he may as well join her for a minute. He could certainly use a shower.  


She jumped and laughed as he slid into the tight space next to her. Twining her arms around his neck, she kissed him, deep and slow. They stood there for several minutes, enjoying the pulsing vibration of the shower as it coaxed grime and sand - several days worth in his case - off their skin. Remembering the food cooling on the bed, he turned the shower off and pulled her out, earning a quizzical look.  


“Figured you should eat something, beyond compressed protein and vitamins,” he said, indicating the plates on the bed.  


“I’ll have you know, I like my protein and vitamins rock-hard and indigestible,” Lelia insisted, sticking her tongue out at him. Even as she did, she grabbed the plate, sitting on the bed, and inhaling it. It was gone in minutes. He sat on the bed beside her, working on his own plate as she grabbed her main-hand blaster, looking over it carefully. He’d always appreciated her meticulous care of her gear.  


Once he finished his own plate, he took hers and returned them to the galley. He came back to find her sitting cross-legged on the floor, still naked, so lovely, - and somewhat ridiculous - a multi tool having materialized in her hand which she was using to fine tune her weapons in preparation for tomorrow. He joined her on the floor, pulling his sniper rifle into his lap. They worked comfortably, mostly in silence, occasionally pointing something out that the other had missed or admiring the other's equipment (on multiple levels). It took a little over an hour to give all their gear a good once over. They lined it up neatly, ready to be rapidly donned in the morning.  


By this point, Lelia was yawning and her eyes looked like they were barely staying open. It took no effort to coax her down onto the bed next to him. She lay on her side and he wrapped his arms around her, spooning against her back and covering them with the blanket. Instinctively, he lay his hand protectively over her belly, softly stroking the taut skin.  


He was almost asleep when something startled him back to alertness. He lay still, listening, trying to discern what had roused him. Then he felt it again. A sudden pressure against his hand that disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. Realization dawned, and his breath left him in a rush.  


“Did you feel that?” he asked in wonder, realizing belatedly that it was a ridiculous question. She hummed quietly, on the edge of sleep.  


“She’s very active at night. Apparently that’s normal. The motion of daytime activity lulls her to sleep, and the stillness at night riles her up. A cruel twist of nature,” she huffed grumpily. Even so, her hand reached down to join his, softly stroking over the place where the little foot occasionally kicked. Despite her complaining, Lelia was asleep moments later, her hand going still on his. He lay awake for several more minutes, etching this moment into his memory. Tomorrow held no guarantees. It would be a hard fight. If this was the only moment he had to relish all three of them together, he was damn well gonna make sure he never forgot it.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations courtesy of mandoa.org and mandalorians.wikia.com/wiki/Mando'a
> 
> Shereshoy - lust for life and much more - uniquely Mandalorian word, meaning the enjoyment of each day and the determination to seek and grab every possible experience, as well as surviving to see the next day - hanging onto life and relishing it. An understandable state of mind/ emotion for a warrior people. Closely related to the words for live, hunt and stay safe - and, of course *oya*. All from the same root.
> 
> Yaim'ol - return, homecoming
> 
> Riduur - partner, spouse, husband, wife
> 
> Kute - underwear, bodysuit, something worn under armor
> 
> Laandur - delicate, fragile (sometimes an insult - weak, pathetic)
> 
> Beskar - Mandalorian iron
> 
> Aliik - sigil, symbol on armor
> 
> Di'kut - idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)
> 
> Osik - dung (impolite)
> 
> Ne shab'rud'ni - Don't mess with me (extremely strong warning - much stronger than jurkadir - and likely to be followed by violence)
> 
> Mir'osik - something undesirable where your brains ought to be, i.e. "Shit for brains"
> 
> Haili cetare! - Tuck in! Enjoy! Lit. *Fill your boots.*
> 
> Verd - soldier, warrior
> 
> Ori’buyce, kih’kovid - All helmet, no head. † Common term of derision for someone with an overdeveloped sense of authority
> 
> Vod - brother/sister/comrade, *mate*
> 
> Ner runi ca kebii’tra,  
> Bel gar me’suum’ika bal ka’ra. - My soul is the night sky, And you are the moon and stars. (From in game)
> 
> Chakaar - corpse robber, thief, petty criminal - general term of abuse
> 
> Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum - colloquial: "I love you." (lit: I know you forever)
> 
> Cyar’ika - darling, sweetheart
> 
> Mesh'la - beautiful


End file.
